


Off Duty

by lrviolet



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/M, Gen, Parental Roy Mustang, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5063374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lrviolet/pseuds/lrviolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While following into hell is one thing, parenthood’s entirely another form of that. Amestris is at peace after The Promised Day, and a story eventually unfolds three months later, surprisingly 30-year-old Brigadier General Mustang with even more responsibilities outside the military. He has never been quite too fond of children, especially when his interest in climbing to the top would be at stake because of them. Good thing Hawkeye decides not to leave him in his unfortunate times of trouble and need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> WHY: 1) I haven't written anything for the FMA fandom in five years (thus, I might sound rusty here). 2) I re-watched the series a couple of days ago. 3) I wanted to see Roy Mustang raising a baby.
> 
> Disclaimer: Nope, I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

**1915 – East City**

A vexing noise from just outside his apartment stirs him awake, a misinterpretation of the past that still haunts him up to this day. He thinks it’s all in his head again, the nightmares of cruelty he’s granted on innocent lives, ordered by a piece of paper from the higher-ups he later on willfully exterminated for due penance. Amestris is currently in rehabilitation, but still at peace. His home now however, expressed the opposite.

Must be new neighbors, he considers. _And their goddamn child shrieking at the top of its lungs._ He gives it five minutes – to which proves his assumption wrong. He decides to check with it himself, swinging the door wide open before the noise intensifies at his presence and, sleepily, groggily, Roy Mustang stares at his feet.

A baby covered in two clean sheets, laid angrily on what appeared like a fruit basket, blue ribbon tied to its handle. A note to its side renders him speechless, suddenly recalling how it is in movies and films he’s watched before.

 

 

_Dearest Roy,_

_This must come out as a shock to you. It had for me too when I first learned of it, and I could not bring myself to tell you sooner. Now it’s partly too late, for the time you receive this letter, I may already be gone from this world and can no longer personally admit what our love has caused. I am writing this from a hospital bed, my illness at its worst. It is cowardice, I understand, and you deserve more than this. Complications have come about during my pregnancy but I have been assured it did not, and will not affect our son. Nevertheless, I apologize for hiding him from you, for not otherwise confessing that you had a child with me, for having him at your doorstep now, brought by my cousin who too cannot afford to be its foster guardian or caretaker._

_I hope you have that heart in you to take him in, and I do very much know that you do. I have always loved you, my dearest Colonel, even if you’ve only spent two days in my arms right after you left to work for Central Command. I am sorry I must leave sooner than we could’ve met, and this may come out as a confusion to you, please don’t ever regret how you’ve made my heart beat faster than anyone ever has. I will miss both of you so much._

_Love always, Elizabeth_

 

_What the hell is this._

He reads it again, this time with a clearer head – focusing on the dots and words she seemed to have emphasized with an inkblot. The third time he reads it, he stops because the child before him still hasn’t ceased his crying, giving the adult an unwelcomed headache.

God. He needs to call the captain.

Folding the note and slipping it into his pocket, he vehemently picks up his package, eyes burning in sheer annoyance. Swiftly he reaches for the phone in the rubble of torn newspapers and unpacked boxes from his old post in Central quickly after the Promised Day (The Fuhrer allowed him little time by transferring him right back to Eastern Headquarters – all in three months).

“Captain.” He breathes into the phone, still not yet as familiar with addressing his faithful adjutant a rank higher than her last.

“Yes, General?” A usual nonchalant response comes in. He’s guessing she’s been at the kitchen washing dishes, or perhaps cleaning her vast collection of pistols by the sofa or maybe even been sleeping – she’s taken the day off from work that day (and to which a Lieutenant Breda complained for the additional paperwork he’s been forced to do).

It takes another second for the female officer to notice. “Where are you?”

The child continues to make such a tumult –it’s making Roy’s ears bleed out of misery. “This is an emergency, Captain. Can you come down over to my place? I need much of your assistance at the moment.”

“Are there civilians around you, sir? Do I need to bring reinforcement?” She questions rather calmly, something that he has admired from her in very nerve-wrecking circumstances.

His impatience seethes through the line. “Just get here. Now.”

“Roger that.”


	2. Surprise Bundle of Joy

He’s expecting a long lecture from Captain Hawkeye – his paperwork at the office often dissipates like an ordinary thunderstorm when she compels him enough to do it. Stern like how her father had been so many years of alchemy behind him, she’s explicitly pointed out how she hated his slacking, always denouncing quietly but effectively, the superior’s inability to perform his functions as the head of Eastern Headquarters.

So it disappoints Roy, when Hawkeye, in her upgraded dress uniform, glances at the written letter and the medical lab report from the blood samples, without flinching and at the same time, supporting a child in her arms. He patiently waits for another reaction.

“It’s Mustang’s, alright,” says Dr. Marcoh, crossing his arms. “Genetic similarities up to almost 87% from the blood samples, and through alchemic breakdown, it was easy to see filiation.”

“Sorry for the trouble at this late hour. Thank you for your help,” Roy addresses, handing extra tips of cenz in keeping the current medical test as confidential as possible. Inspecting quickly but silently the outside premise, he escorts Riza and the child out of the doctor’s home and into his car. “Have a good night, Doc.” He waves, only being replied with a scorned look from an old war pal, before he then disappears into his quiet residence.

When they are settled and he starts the car that finally, she speaks, eyes focused on her superior’s face. “I told you to be careful.”

“I was! I always am!” He adjusts his side mirror in defeat, agitated and tired, but at least the baby calms down to a peaceful slumber when Hawkeye proceeds on stroking its back, gentle and comforting, rocking it to a lullaby she’s heard Gracia sing couple of times to Elicia.

Riza’s eyes are fixed at him, entire body seemingly shaking in tension, as he had been for the past two hours, the baby in her arms nearly asleep. He sighs, cracks, depleted, falling deep into the seat next to hers in a moment of seconds, hands still on the wheel. “I just… I just didn’t think anything like this could ever happen.”

Roy glances at _it_ , the baby completely muted in comfort, mouth hanging open, swirls of raven black hair atop his tiny head that even Brigadier General Mustang can tell against gut denial, resembles his own. Aunt Chris has one picture of him as a baby, and he’ll never forget it – it’s been passed around in the brothel house amongst his sisters for them to laugh at: _Roy why couldn’t you stay like this forever_ , they all would comment.

The infant lays fast asleep, head cradled on Hawkeye’s broad shoulders. “It’s likely since you’ve been sleeping around before that transfer to Central. She must have heard about you transferring back to the East.”

Snitched by her words, he glares. “But I can’t have a child out of wedlock. I’m still a candidate for the next Fuhrer, and God knows what Grumman’s going to do to me when he finds out. I could be court-martialed for all I know. I’ve come too far for my plans to be ruined all because I slept with an Elizabeth who I certainly don’t even remember fucking?”

“Guess Elizabeth won’t be calling in on the military lines anymore,” Hawkeye says easily, still embracing the child, clueless of the storm it brings. “The rest of the team might not take it that well, sir, although I think Fuery will enjoy a new –”

“None of this is going to come out to anyone else. That’s an order,” he cuts her off sternly, the Captain completely taken aback by the enforced response. “We have to dispose of it somewhere while we still have time.”

She shakes her head. It’s 1:23 am in the morning and hell, if it’s not the sleepiness that’s clouding her eardrums, it’s probably Roy Mustang’s uncanny nonchalance for something he usually will in fact give a fuck about.

“I’m sorry, what?”                                                                                                                                             

Roy sighs, unable to look at them. “It’s best we get rid of it before anyone hears I’m raising a bastard.”

A little aggrieved, Riza tilts to watch the baby’s breathing then back at her commanding officer. “Sir, he’s still your son.”

Before he further explains, he drives in silence for not more than a minute before stopping at a corner, Hawkeye peering to see what he meant by getting rid of it. He pulls out his keys, Captain Hawkeye sitting firmly on the passenger seat.

“Well?” Roy presses against the wheel, raises a brow and side eyes his subordinate who expectantly wishes he’d say something other than blank imperceptible orders that needed to be justified. She hates this about him the most.

“Just so you know sir,” she starts dryly, cradling the baby closer, at the same time, one hand already at the handle of the door. “I am opposing this very strongly. I never met my mother, and my father hardly paid attention in being an actual parent. I raised myself. Think about that before I leave the child in an orphanage –”

“How uncommon it is,” he intrudes, leaning back now to focus on them, “for someone like you to ever bring up personal matters and standards like –”

Hawkeye shifts in her seat, intensely glowering back. “And yet likewise if you’re playing that card, how is this even a public matter? How is this a matter of the state that you then think it’s wrong to bring up an opinion rooted from private life? When in fact this child, clearly a private matter of yours, has done nothing to deserve what you’re going to put him through?”

Silence breaches the eye contact, his face stoic under the street light. “Just be done with it, Captain. It’s been a long night and we have more work tomorrow.”

Jaw hardening and eyes widening in betrayal at his tone of finality, Riza leaves without another word of affirmation, slamming the car door behind her and walking to the front porch of the children's home in East City. She knocks five times, the fifth quite stronger than the last ones, before a lady in her mid-50’s opened the door, at once bowing her head to see a military officer by her doorstep.

“Sorry to have bothered you at this hour madam,” Riza begins, her voice cracking ever so slightly. Lying has never made her snap; she’s done it with great stealth in every covert operations since her cadet years. Yet somehow, facing the old woman, holding the child of her superior, and then suddenly having to brace the idea to merely cover for Mustang’s ass when it doesn’t even directly destroy his goals, all of it is just feels wrong.

“I believe this child was brought to the police station about a week ago. No family member or relative has come for him despite the continuous effort of the military police to locate them. I am under strict orders to have him in the care of the community’s orphanage instead, to have him at least be provided with a home by this institution…”

Five minutes go by and Riza’s no longer carrying the baby, approaching the car, Roy almost half-asleep examining the scene and making up what she could have possibly used as an excuse. In seconds, she slips to his side without a word, balled fists, and he takes it as that. They do not talk until he drops her off at her apartment, with his little effort to utter a _‘good night Captain’_ and she denies him a reply, trying her hardest not to leak her disappointment.

The first thing Riza notices when she arrives at the office the next morning is the easing smell of caffeine lingering by her station; seemingly coffee’s been served by her desk when she prefers making her own cup and everyone else she’s ever worked with comprehends this much.

“If it isn’t my favorite sniper, always on time.”

Her face lights up when she hears that voice, hasn’t changed much except he grows himself a beard and definitely a messier hair, but his grin, uneven and lazy, is warmer than the day itself, and it’s barely even 8:00 am.

“Havoc,” she greets heartily. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

“Broke,” Breda chimes in, his breakfast still dangling in his mouth as he enters the hall. “Oh, and probably heart _broken_.”

The taller man dismisses this with an eye roll. He turns to Hawkeye, in a blithe whisper, “I retire and the rest of you has to suffer his puns. Hella proud of you for tolerating his shit.”

“Wait I got more,” Breda says, swallowing the bread in his mouth. “At least you ain’t got _broken_ legs anymore, you know?”

Fuery from behind his crossword puzzle represses his laughter, Hawkeye managing to smile before patting the two boys’ back, afraid it’ll ensue into another squabble – they may fight well with guns and wit, but they fight like a married couple with the verbal banter.

“But what brought you here?”

The taller blonde lets out a long sigh. “A reappointment meeting. Chief requested two days back to see him immediately but it appears he’s not coming in today?”

Also taken aback, Riza notices this, and looks down the hall at the closed-door office of her superior. He always, _always_ comes to work early, because of the amount of backlogs from the previous day he has yet again evaded.

“Brigadier General Mustang is… late?”

“I doubt it,” Breda suggests. “He’s secretly been trying to compete against General Hakuro’s accomplishment for the past three months, and although we’re ahead on the Ishval Restoration Project, Mustang’s not letting his guard down easy. Any ideas, Captain?”

Riza meets his eyes, ears starting to go read in absolute irritation. Her voice remains calmer than the fair day. “I’ll check on him later. For now, let’s finish filing our reports. I’ll give him a good beating tomorrow.”

Chills sweeps through the room as the captain, marked by her heavy footsteps, heads back to her table. When she feels the rest do not follow her orders, she stops, side-glaring them over her shoulder.

“The general is not the only who’s gonna get a good beating if the rest of you don’t perform your functions by the time I reach my desk.”

The hours finish quickly for Riza, that when she decides to organize and compile this week’s reports it’s still just sundown. She locks up the office, then thinks that she may be able to call Mustang at home instead. His absence will surely leave a mark in that perfect record – and although Hawkeye believes he will be in no immediate danger, her nerves mock in worry at the thought that something might actually happen. Careless asshole always ends up being burned by his own flame when he isn’t too careful.

Eventually she reaches her apartment. Something else beats her to it, however.

Black Hayate, as his formal training of being a proud guard dog, barks at her presence. She picks up the note sealed in an envelope, along with documents that appear to be adoption papers, inserted underneath the heavy basket containing her package.

 

_Captain Hawkeye,_

_As you know, I’m not exactly a father figure. So I’m delegating this very important task to you, as my personal adjutant. Take him in, as if he was your own, even though records do say that I’ve acknowledged him as my own. Take him in, bathe him, feed him, and give him a home and a mother. Watch his back and protect him at all cost, like how you protect my back as well._

_You might be surprised how I would be writing a letter instead of just calling you but my ears are still trying to recover from the last time you yelled at my incompetence. Before anything, I will remind you that I will be behind this in every step of the way – that I will also be watching him being taken care of and loved. I will provide the support financially, from milk to his diapers. I hope you agree to this negotiation, and likewise keep it a secret from military eyes, lest they become privy to this circumstance. We shall talk tomorrow as I have sacrificed a day of work to make sure his papers were fully accomplished. His name is Thomas, by the way._

-  _R.M._

 

A wave of emotions suddenly cripples her soundless, watching the baby in the basket settle in his sleep, unaware what his fucktard of a father has completely done. Suddenly, parenthood becomes an all too well known nightmare that Riza Hawkeye thinks it’s time to wake up and fix reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated late because of finals week. Rather difficult trying to write and read and study for another. I've also taken the liberty to assume that DNA tests can be done without the technological advancement we have today, but instead through Medical Alchemy. Anyway, comments are appreciated! :D


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